Night Golf

The moon was loitering behind the 4th green today. As its National Poetry Day, here's a golf related poem I found that struck a chord: I often play imaginary rounds of golf in my head at night to help me get to sleep (and always play better than in daytime!)

Night Golf

I remember the night I discovered,
lying in bed in the dark,
that a few imagined holes of golf
worked much better than a thousand sheep,

that the local links,
not the cloudy pasture with its easy fence,
was the greener path to sleep.

How soothing to stroll the shadowy fairways,
to skirt the moon-blanched bunkers
and hear the night owl in the woods.

Who cared about the score
when the club swung with the ease of air
and I glided from shot to shot
over the mown and rolling ground,
alone and drowsy with my weightless bag?

Eighteen small cups punched into the

bristling grass,
eighteen flags limp on their sticks
in the silent, windless dark,

but in the bedroom with its luminous clock
and propped-open windows,
I got only as far as the seventh hole
before I drifted easily away -

the difficult seventh, "The Tester" they called it,
where, just as on the earlier holes,
I tapped in, dreamily, for birdie.

by
Billy Collins